


Comfort

by Resoan



Series: Dragon Age Inquisition AU [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3261518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resoan/pseuds/Resoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mythal has asked an incredible favor of Abelas and Fena'dea, and while Abelas is only too happy to oblige the goddess to whom he is dedicated, Fena'dea is not so certain. Thankfully, Abelas takes it upon himself to reassure her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Da'mi is elven for little blade - fitting, considering Fena'dea is a dual-wielding rogue!

“You can't be serious.” There was no jape in Fena'dea's tone, no half-smile or glint of mischief in her eyes; she'd been able to anticipate that life would change now that the gods had been released and were actively interacting with their world again, but she could never have seen this coming. Hawke had come to her at midday, eyes serious and profound, and it had drawn Fena'dea's attention ever quicker when she noticed Abelas striding at her side, his expression wholly unreadable – which was strange. When they'd started looking into the Well's knowledge together, she'd eventually been able to read his body language: the subtle shifts of his expression, the fleeting emotions in his eyes, even a terse twist of his lips or a light clench of his fist, but now...nothing. It had initially made her uneasy, and when Mythal suggested they move to a more clandestine location, that anxiety worsened.

Abelas's eyes narrowed, and Fena'dea didn't need to ask to know why; he undoubtedly perceived such a phrase as disrespectful, and to the goddess he'd pledged himself to for all time no less. “I'm afraid quips are beyond my capability at the moment, Child. It is a most grave matter, and if I believed others more suited for the task, I would have approached them. I will not force this upon you, however. It must be of your own volition.” Fena'dea averted her gaze from both of them then, the rogue swallowing before shaking her head.

“I...I need some time to think. _Alone_.” The last word was punctuated with a sharp look at Abelas, though he did not flinch away from it: truly, Fena'dea doubted he'd ever flinched away from anything in his entire life. She turned away from them then, and while she could see movement in her periphery, she could hear Hawke murmur something in an aside to Abelas – likely telling him to let her go.

Her footsteps were silent even as hurried as they were – overwhelming emotion tended to hurry her pace – and when she first paused to turn towards the garden, she thought better of it and instead headed out the main door and down the staircase that wound into the courtyard. Purple eyes scanned across the battlements for a set of stairs she could ascend – for what better place could be found to be alone than an abandoned part of the battlements? – and when she finally saw a set just beyond the tavern, she made a beeline for it before anyone could see her and hinder her movements.

The wind whipped around her unforgivingly when she finally made it to the top, and though she did have to duck around several of Cullen's men and some agents on their way elsewhere, she did eventually find a quiet section utterly bereft of people. Only then did she breathe easier; she took a seat on the edge of the battlements, one leg dangling over the side, and she allowed her thoughts to consume her fully as she'd refused to let happen earlier in front of Mythal and Abelas. This was no mere trifling Mythal had asked of her: it would alter  _everything_ , from her appearance to her relationships, and likely her very  _future_ .

Still, there was a resounding echo deep in her core, a gut instinct that had never been wrong thus far in her life, and though she had good reason for hesitation, she knew she wouldn't be able to say no. She was not as devoted to the recovery of elven lore as Velahari or Enera, but she cared about the fate of the elves as a whole; she did not care to see them trod under human feet, or wandering lost forests and disparate for all time. With Mythal fully restored to her people, they could help the elves – even though she doubted it would be a peaceful change; Mythal would help the transition, however, or so Fena'dea hoped.  _If you don't want to do it for the elves, do it for Abelas_ .

She had not listened to his explanation, his reasons for agreeing, though it was doubtful she needed to; he was still bound to Mythal: a priest dedicated solely to her. What  _wouldn't_ he do to restore her to her former glory? That thought left Fena'dea feeling hollow though; no matter how many times she attempted to battle away the nagging voice, she couldn't shake it, nor the idea that came with it: that the only way Abelas would have wanted a child with her would be because he'd been instructed to do so from Mythal. Theirs was a relationship still in its infancy, still fragile and delicate, even if neither of them were particularly careful in conversation or physical contact with the other. Would Abelas ever feel free of his responsibilities to Mythal? Or would her rebirth draw him away from Fena'dea altogether? A vice seemed to squeeze around her heart then, and she could have cursed the distraction it caused. She did not hear him approach, and when she did eventually notice, she started and very nearly lost her balance.

“You should be more careful,” Abelas admonished gently, his hand holding on to her upper arm as he'd pulled her away from the edge when she'd begun to falter. Her initial thought was to yank her arm away, though the momentum would likely have landed her on the other side of the battlement, and though she was agitated, she did not care to die needlessly and for something so ridiculous. She glanced up at him once, purple eyes catching gold, though she did not hold it for long; he frowned then, uncomprehending and concerned, though he released her arm regardless, Fena'dea instantly tucking them against her chest as she stared pointedly at where the snow glimmered brightly against the sunlight.

Fena'dea had told him she needed time alone, and yet, here he was: encroaching upon her space, but the normal fight and drive to tell him so was...dimmer than normal. Something unpleasant settled heavily in her belly, and a queer numbness took the edge away from the biting wind as it nipped at her exposed skin. “You don't need to overextend yourself on my account,” she found herself saying in a voice that did not sound much like her own at all. Had she not known better, she may have assumed it was a disembodied voice, or that another had joined her and Abelas on the wall. Her words were met with a confused expression, not that Fena'dea noticed; whatever Fena'dea may have said earlier, Abelas felt wholly justified in his choice at that moment.

The rogue did her best to keep her gaze forward, even as Abelas settled at her side; she could feel the warmth emanating from the closeness, though she managed not to curl closer as she would have ordinarily. She swallowed uncertainly when his hand found hers and held on: not tightly or demandingly, but in a tacit gesture that he was  _there_ , and if she did not wish to converse, that was all right. Her breath stifled in her lungs, shaking as it billowed unevenly from her lips, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut when that feeling from earlier spread: moving up into her chest and forcing a telling heaviness behind her eyes.

“What's the matter?”

Fena'dea could scarcely hear Abelas's whisper over the wail of the wind, and against her better judgment, she turned to glance at him. There was a softness in his eyes she'd seen only a handful of times before, the slight curve of his lips a subdued smile bogged down only by concern – and concern for  _her_ at that. He undoubtedly knew she was taking the request of her hard, but there was something in his question that said he knew she was feeling more than she let on, that it wasn't simply Mythal's request weighing on her mind. She had to force herself to breathe, and even then, Fena'dea coughed half a second later; she refused to cry, however: there was no need to appear even more emotional than she already had.

“Abelas, I need to ask you something, and it's probably going to sound absolutely ridiculous.” His gaze turned inquisitive then, a tacit indication that she go ahead, though even as the words formed on her tongue, she felt like a child for asking something so stupid. “If...if Mythal had not asked this of us,” she began slowly, Fena'dea unable to hold Abelas's gaze and instead averting her eyes several times. “Would...would you have still wanted to...have children with me?” Only once the question was out did Fena'dea feel her breathing return to normal, though where she expected amusement or outright surprise on Abelas's features, his gaze on her remained steady: golden eyes piercing and deep and drawing her in until she was drowning in their depths.

For a long while, there was only silence: a gaze both refused to look away from, even as Fena'dea worried for what the answer might be. His hand released her abruptly, and even as her heart fell and something within her broke, that same hand had lifted to her face, thumb brushing just under the soft skin of her eye and the rest of his fingers slipping just slightly underneath short, brown tendrils near the curve of her ear. Abelas moved slowly but deliberately, his gaze never once wavering as his hand joined the other on the opposite side of her face; Fena'dea's thoughts were long gone: shoved away by the gentle caresses, the warmth in his gaze. Even if he were to leave her broken and lost, perhaps it would all be worth it for this contact right now.

“I never thought to have children at all,” Abelas murmured, breath ghosting across frost-bitten cheeks. “And I will not lie that Mythal's request has made it seem more a duty than anything, but for once in a very long while, my duty will not be bitter.” His words did not reassure her, and just as her eyes narrowed, he continued. “The answer to your question, Da'mi, is yes.” Everything seemed to fade away then: the bitter cold of the mountains, the numbness in her limbs from sitting on frozen stone, and most assuredly, the doubt she'd been feeling prior to his reply. Warmth flooded her chest instead, an elation and buoyancy she had not felt since long before joining the Inquisition; even as his fingers angled her head up towards him, she was pressing closer until their lips met and Fena'dea let out a relieved sigh against him.

He pulled back to kiss away the tears as they slipped from her eyes, and when she did finally peak them open to glance at him, his smile was heartwarming: as tender an expression she'd ever seen from him before. She was not afforded much time to drink in such a smile, however; his kiss was insistent, deep and domineering, and she melted against him, happy to allow him control just this once when she was feeling at a loss for it herself. It was not difficult to lose themselves in each other, and when Abelas's arms swept down her back and slipped under her hips to lift her easily, her arms rounded his neck, their kiss never once broken. No one saw the pair of them for the rest of the evening.

 

**Author's Note:**

> In case it wasn't clear, Mythal has asked Fena'dea and Abelas to have a child; similar to how Morrigan becomes pregnant with the Old God Baby from Origins, this child will be reborn with Mythal's soul in-tact.


End file.
